Paradigms
by Lexical Item
Summary: Crane is tired of lurking in the shadows and decides to enact a large scale project. He expected the Bat's intervention. The Joker's reaction, however, was an entirely confounding variable. Sequel to 'Escalation'.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, no infringement, etcetera

**Warnings:** Villainy which grantees dark themes, some violence; maybe some slash—haven't decided

**Author's Note:** I suppose this is a sequel. It's mostly self-contained, though.

**Paradigms**

The last phase of the synthesis involved resuspending the purified crystals into the inert solvent. Crane carefully tilted the folded filter paper and let the crystals spill into a flask. The flask itself was simmering on a tripod over a Bunsen burner. Fumes were not an issue. He wouldn't be making an aerosol version of this compound until he could test its effects empirically.

A scream rang out close by. It was a hoarse sound that suggested that the throat it originated from was raw. The scream was followed by a few whimpers that trailed off into a broken sob. Despite the potential distraction, Crane's eyes were fixed on the fine powder as it fell into the solvent.

_How can you work with delightful background sounds like that in the next room?_ Scarecrow enquired.

There was no reply from the doctor.

_Jonathan?_

Still no reply. Crane was now stirring the solution with a glass rod.

_Jonathan!_

Crane turned off the gas to the Bunsen burner, set the flask aside and covered it with plastic wrap. 'Pardon?'

_Never mind. I think you just answered the question._

'You're usually content to let me work uninterrupted.'

_Usually there isn't a 'test subject' waiting in the next room._

Crane pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was nearing the point of exhaustion. This particular compound had been the focus of his attention for…well it was an indeterminate length of time. His sleeping patterns had become erratic and it was hard to mark the passage of days without a constant sleep/wake cycle. The doctor took short naps whenever his fatigued body forced him to, but mostly he'd been consumed by his latest formula.

Crane turned his attention back to his other self. 'You've already had time to torment him, Scarecrow. From the sound of things, he still hasn't fully recovered from the last dose.'

_And that was fun, but really, it's been a while since _you've_ worked with a target. I miss your brand of clinical nastiness. You know I love to watch you play._

'I don't "play", I experiment.'

Scarecrow snorted. _My point stands._

'Perhaps later. I'm going to let this sample cool. I could also use some sleep and maybe something to eat.'

Crane couldn't remember when he ate his last meal, though he was reasonably sure it had been a cheese sandwich. Scarecrow fell silent. He wasn't good at remembering those details either, but he was reasonably sure that it would be a good idea if they got some food and sleep.

Crane left his chemistry equipment and proceeded to the next room where he had left his latest test subject. The man was tied to a heavy chair in the centre of the floor-space. His eyes were glazed and unfocused from the toxin that was still acting in his system.

The subject had been acquired off the street. He was some petty criminal from one of Gotham's more shadowy areas just outside the Narrows. Crane didn't recall the specifics of the thug's activities—petty theft, drugs, muggings, it hardly mattered. What did matter was that he had no pre-existing heart conditions or respiratory problems. His baseline blood pressure was almost right on the average at 122/80 and he was not taking any medication. Perhaps most importantly, he would not be missed.

Crane circled closer to the test subject. He stopped a few paces from the chair, just close enough to see the sweat beading on the man's forehead. After a moment of quiet observation, Crane reluctantly stepped back. As fascinating as the results of Scarecrow's interventions were, the doctor was in no condition to make a proper study of this case. There would be time later. That new compound needed to be tested and the subject wasn't going anywhere. Physically, the restraints were medical grade and psychologically speaking, he was hardly capable of taking initiative by this point.

The current location that was serving as Crane's research base was an abandoned warehouse. The basement of Arkham was no longer a viable option and Crane was not going to use his apartment for the more practical side of his research. Causing frequent screams of blind terror, in a populated area of Gotham, would attract the wrong sort of attention. A warehouse in an abandoned industrial district seemed like a much better idea. Crane could work in his makeshift lab at his residence and use the more remote location for test subjects, as needed.

Unfortunately, the doctor found himself working out of the warehouse more often than not. He soon found that he was spending extended stretches of time away from such comforts as a bed and a refrigerator. There was a stock of non-perishables like crackers, protein bars and even a few apples for the warehouse, but it was not ideal. Crane had also transferred most of his chemistry equipment by this time. He had even considered acquiring something to sleep on, but had decided against it. It would only encourage him to stay away from his apartment and exacerbate his negligent attitude toward his wellbeing.

Though science took precedence, it was all too easy to get carried away by the search for knowledge. Still, this latest obsessive drive served a purpose. Up until this breakthrough in his research, Crane had been getting restless. After the laborious synthesis and with a trial phase in sight, he no longer felt the need for something more…elaborate. Pure science was the way. He would leave headline-grabbing projects to those who appreciated the attention.

Crane decided that he'd go back to his apartment for some much needed recuperation. While sleep and food were obvious priorities for survival, what Crane really felt like, at that moment, was a shower. So when he arrived at his residence, he tended to his hygiene first, despite Scarecrow's complaints about being hungry. Fatigue set in while the doctor ate and he hardly noticed his meal. His eyelids were drooping as he half stumbled toward his bed. He barely managed to remove his glasses before he crashed.

Initially, Crane had planned to sleep for only a couple of hours and give himself just enough rest to fool his body into cooperating. However, when he woke after twelve hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep, he was unsurprised. Perhaps it was for the best. He knew the effects of sleep deprivation on cognitive function. This way, his focus would be optimal when he worked with his test subject. Also, his prolonged absence would likely be creating a delightful level of apprehension in said test subject.

A long sleep, a large breakfast and a fresh set of clothes did wonders for the doctor's disposition. His enthusiasm for the upcoming trial was rivalling Scarecrow's. He wasted no time in returning to the warehouse

Crane kept a measured pace as he crossed the floor-space in the warehouse and made his way to his temporary laboratory set-up. He didn't spare a glance to the bound test subject. A faint smile played across the doctor's lips as he considered the imminent experimental procedure. Scarecrow was right. It had been far too long since he had involved himself in the practical side of his research.

Once in the lab, Crane prepared a moderate dose of the new formula and placed it in his briefcase. The compound had probably finished cooling several hours ago and the doctor appreciated his foresight at having covered the flask in plastic to prevent dust settling in the solution. He left his burlap mask in the briefcase. This was for science rather than Scarecrow's amusement and intravenous delivery meant that filters were unnecessary. Still, the doctor's gaze flicked over to the rough-stiched mask once or twice as he prepared the solution.

_So what does the new variant do? _Scarecrow asked as he observed Crane's meticulous preparations.

'It binds irreversibly to receptors in the brain, causing a constitutive triggering of certain late factors involved in the fear pathway,' Crane explained. 'In short, it completely floods the system with fear. The terror should be quite extreme, though non-specific.'

Scarecrow grinned. _Sounds good._

Crane allowed himself a small smile. 'Indeed.'

Scarecrow was still grinning in the periphery as Crane emerged from the makeshift lab and approached his test subject. The thug tracked the doctor's movements with clear apprehension, his eyes now focused and unclouded. It was a significant indication of what Scarecrow had put him through that he didn't bother to beg for mercy.

"Try to relax," Crane soothed. "The dosage is only moderate and I will appreciate any cooperation that you can extend. This is a new compound and while I doubt you can summon up the enthusiasm that I'm currently feeling, try to think of the valuable contribution that you're making to the scientific process."

The thug eyed his tormentor warily. Even through the fear and resignation, his brow was furrowed as if he were trying to work through a complex equation.

"Is something the matter, beyond the obvious, that is?" Crane enquired.

The thug swallowed a couple of times before speaking. "No mask, you're not wearing it and…your voice it's…" the thug trailed off and then cringed as Crane took another step forward.

"Ah, I see. Well let's just say that you might find this stage of the experiment less…brutal. Or perhaps not, it really depends on your perspective. Now try to control the impulse to struggle. This will only take a moment."

Strangely enough, the thug did remain still as Crane delivered the injection. The ex-psychiatrist still had a way with patients, especially those who had been exposed to Scarecrow's games. The needle slid in cleanly and Crane took a step back as the compound began to take effect.

The drug's effects manifested rapidly. In a matter of heartbeats, the subject's pupils dilated excessively. The breathing patterns were gasping and erratic, a thin whine escaped the thug's throat and then…stillness.

Crane frowned. This was unusual. It wasn't an allergic response. Nothing indicated that the subject couldn't cope with his regular toxin. Besides, failed trials usually ended with myocardial infarctions and death. This subject was alive, but unresponsive. The doctor picked up a pen-light and tested for autonomic responses. He longed for an fMRI scanner or at least an EEG. He was beginning to suspect that this particular toxin variant had a rather unique side-effect.

_What's wrong with him?_ Scarecrow demanded. A subject that wasn't screaming was hardly entertaining.

Crane pondered his answer for a moment. 'I would have to run further tests, but I think that it's reasonable to hypothesis that I've created something that is essentially lethal.'

_Even I can see that he's breathing, Jonathan_.

'Yes, but if there's no longer a mind behind those eyes, can one really call him alive?'

_What? You think he's…gone?_

'Once again, I would need to run more tests, but he's comatose. He is simply not responding to stimuli. Observe.'

Here Crane retrieved the small knife he kept in his briefcase. He had acquired the blade from the Joker and generally kept it with his most personal supplies. Practically speaking, a blade was useful, but Crane kept it close for a few reasons. Now the doctor slid the sharp knife edge across the lax palm of his subject. The man didn't even register the pain.

Scarecrow seemed a little dubious. _Shouldn't his eyes be closed if he's in a coma?_

'Indeed. I think the fear response created tension in some of his muscles, but this is akin to a chemical lobotomy. I didn't even know I could synthesise something like this. I am fairly certain it's irreversible.' Crane sounded somewhat perturbed.

Conversely, Scarecrow seemed pleased. _This is interesting. You're saying it completely _destroys_ a mind—overloads it with fear so quickly that there's nothing left at all, even with a moderate dose. This is a real weapon._

Crane frowned. 'I don't go out of my way to kill. Our usual toxin is informative and while it can be deadly, that is not its primary purpose. I question the scientific validity of ever using _this_ variant again.'

_I don't mean that we use it to wipe out half of Gotham. But it could be something like a last resort. Think about it…anyone who fights us would have no way of knowing which compound we're using. We'd only need to use it once or twice for the threat to always be there—for the _fear_ to always be there._

Crane paused for a moment as he considered the tone of Scarecrow's thoughts.

'You seem more brutal, Scarecrow. I've noticed this in you ever since your exposure to the Joker.'

A succession of thoughts flashed across Scarecrow's consciousness at the mention of the Joker. It was over too quickly for Crane to analyses and Scarecrow made an effort to keep his reactions private.

'Scarecrow?'

_Maybe. But you're changing the subject. The situation in Gotham has escalated and the game's become more dangerous. I think that fact needs to be acknowledged. Besides, the Bat is going to try and take us down regardless of _how_ we damage his precious citizens. This new toxin is useful._

Crane paused again. 'I won't dismiss your suggestion, but this whole matter merits in-depth consideration. That being said, I understand your restlessness. I have recently felt the desire for something more far-reaching than individual trials. I have given thought to a large scale project.' It was true. Before embarking on this line of research, the doctor had devoted significant time to such plans. The research had dampened these desires, but now that his latest compound was an apparent dead-end, the impulse for something greater returned tenfold.

The change in Scarecrow's internal demeanour was instantaneous. There was the impression of a malicious smile from him. _Oh yes? Fear Night was glorious, even if it wasn't your original intent._

Crane's tone became wintry. 'No, it wasn't my intent. I am a scientist, not some anarchic lunatic. However, since that is the way I am now perceived, I would just _hate_ to disappoint.'

_You're fun when you're feeling vindictive._

Crane didn't really have an answer to that.

_But are you sure I'm the only one who got influenced by 'exposure to the Joker'? _Scarecrow continued.

Crane ignored the insinuation. 'I have been considering likely targets, but there's one in particular that I think will suit our purpose.'

Scarecrow gave the impression of a slow smirk. _And what target would that be?_

'Simple, we shall strike at the heart of Gotham: Wayne Enterprises.'


	2. Chapter 2

_Wayne Enterprises…an interesting choice, but why there? _Scarecrow enquired.

'As I mentioned, it's the centre of Gotham and it's bound to be heavily populated, however I am mostly interested in their tech. division.'

Over time, Crane had acquired a strong network across drug and chemical suppliers. He was ruthless against any hint of competition and the added pressure of the Bat was enough to ensure his position. The more conventional underground elements figured that the vigilante would focus on a notorious costumed criminal rather than bothering with smaller prey. In that way, working for the Scarecrow almost offered protection. Of course, if you got on Scarecrow's bad side there was no one to protect you from him.

This network meant that Crane was immediately advised of any useful information relating to his areas of interest. He was well informed about the goings-on at Arkham and anything to do with the major chemical supply companies or research institutions. These days, all of Crane's contacts were so eager to please.

It helped, that in Gotham, corruption always found a way to grow upward. That said, Wayne Enterprises often appeared inconveniently clean, at least at the top levels. But no Gotham-resident company could be completely free from the taint. All it took was one well placed lab-tech and some idle talk around the water cooler. It just so happened that critical information regarding the creation of an interesting new chemical was leaked from the Wayne Tech. division. Such information always seemed to find itself in the wrong hands.

_So what's in the Wayne Tech. labs?_ Scarecrow asked.

'While I generally take with a grain of salt any pieces of information that filter down to Gotham's underground, a couple of fairly reliable sources have information that provides a consistent account. Wayne Enterprises acquired a contract with dear Arkham for drug development. Apparently the standard treatments aren't making much headway with more…troublesome patients.'

Scarecrow understood exactly who Crane was not mentioning by name.

'Ironically, the means for funding such a contract could only come from the substantial donations that one of Wayne's charities pumps into the asylum.'

Scarecrow snorted.

'Anyway, I would be interested in the notes and maybe some of the drug prototypes. Also, if they're really designing something to treat the Joker with, they'll have information about some of his physiological parameters.'

_And you care about that because…?_

'That is neither here nor there, Scarecrow. Regardless of the target, we are going to spread some fear. Individual trials are informative, but large scale data is more useful statistically.'

Scarecrow accepted the change of topic. _You had me at 'spread some fear', Jonathan. I don't care about the data._

Crane shook his head and gave a faint smile. 'The data does help me refine my formulae, you know.'

Scarecrow smirked back. They were a good team. _So when do you plan to strike?_

Here Crane hesitated. 'The day itself is unimportant. I was considering mid-week. However, the time of day, or night, is a far more contentious decision.'

_Midnight, obviously, _Scarecrow asserted.

'As amusingly dramatic as that notion is, what about the Bat? And what about test subjects, for that matter?'

This time Scarecrow paused. _Well it has to be at night. Fear comes out of the darkness. Besides, people work late and there'd be bound to a few victims running around. Maybe fewer people is better too, if we're going to steal something._

'And the Bat?'

Scarecrow was silent.

'You want to face him, don't you?' Crane accused.

Scarecrow bristled. _You miss the point when you say it like that. He's worthy opposition and he understands a thing or two about fear. I know I'm not the only one who wants to hear him scream, Jonathan._

Crane scowled. 'I'm not going to deny that, Scarecrow, but what we do is not about 'worthy opposition'.'

_If we're going for a large public target, that's something beyond straight science. This is a statement. You know it is._

'Enough, Scarecrow. We'll strike in the evening, after dusk. It will be sufficiently dark for inspiring fear, but perhaps too early for nocturnal flying mammals. There should even be some late-working staff members hanging around to target.'

Scarecrow acquiesced. It was a reasonable compromise.

Preparations for the raid ran smoothly. Crane's contacts didn't ask questions about why he wanted schematics of the Wayne Towers. The production of toxin, and a few different ways of releasing it, was almost a leisure activity. Crane was using a standard formula. It was at a sufficient concentration to be used on a large scale. Barring statistical anomalies, it would incapacitate those unlucky enough to inhale it. Anyone receiving a particularly high a dose would probably have their heart give out under the strain.

As the doctor gently heated the clear solutions and precipitated crystalline structures for re-suspension, he could almost hear the screams in the back of his mind. He was working with pure chemical fear and there was nothing that could ever compare with that.

Scarecrow had remained dormant during the preparations, but now he put forward a suggestion. _The new toxin, the lethal one, we should take a couple of vials of that._

Crane stopped his immediate activities. He kept the tone of his response completely neutral. 'It would be useless in a combat situation. I haven't made an aerosol version of it.'

_Could you just make it a little more volatile so that it would send up fumes from a smashed vial? We already know it only takes a small dose._

'Theoretically, yes.'

Scarecrow easily recognised the reluctance in his counterpart's comment. _Please, Jonathan? I said it before, but as a last resort, it could be very useful. It's not as if you care what happens to anyone we use it on._

Crane was silent for a moment. Scarecrow had a point. It wasn't as if either of them held the vaguest shred of empathy for the individuals that would be caught by the compound, but it still made Crane uneasy. To destroy a mind so quickly was a waste and it established him as something worse than a scientist who merely disregarded 'appropriate ethics'. This particular formula was…villainous.

Eventually, Crane sighed. Despite his reservations, he was inclined to listen to Scarecrow's advice. His counterpart was no scientist, but inciting terror was one of Scarecrow's greatest strengths.

'Fine, but remember, it won't produce the sort of results that you find entertaining. It obliterates a mind and it does so quickly. There's no outward indication of the overwhelming fear it induces, so there's no screaming.'

_I know, _Scarecrow assured. The compound might not produce outward fear properly, but to hold that sort of power held immense appeal to the Scarecrow. Power was always intriguing and this particular chemical held Scarecrow's attention like no other sample. When Crane began working on it, Scarecrow's silent focus was ardent.

The clear solution seemed innocuous. Scarecrow felt that it should be a dull blood red or poisonous green colour. He remembered Crane explaining something about most 'useful' chemicals not absorbing or reflecting in the visible spectrum, but he hadn't been paying much attention. What Scarecrow did know, was that Gotham would once more shake in terror. Fear Night still lurked in the memory of the city, but more recent attacks had overshadowed that. This night would be the beginning of something greater.

Crane, on the other hand, was accustomed to the dramatic thoughts of his counterpart and paid them no heed as he worked on the compound. Still, there was a part of him, separate from Scarecrow, which was thinking similar thoughts of mass panic and terrified civilians.

This part of him wasn't loud or strident the way Scarecrow was. It was something buried a bit deeper, something more insidious. It was not Crane's wild id-like desires, but a dark fascination that allowed him to sit in front of a dying test-subject and take meticulous notes about the situation. It was the same quality that prompted Crane to sooth a patient before delivering a dose and brought a faint smile to his lips whenever a terrified subject complied, out of some misplaced sense of hope for mercy.

~X~

Early evening was falling over Gotham city. Outside Wayne Tower a lone figure looked toward the horizon and smirked as the last rays of true daylight began to fade. Crane had dressed well to fit in. He had also made sure that there were plenty of pockets in his suit for his mask and numerous samples of toxin. As a final precaution he wore coloured contact lenses, but overall, he had not gone to an elaborate effort to disguise himself. It wasn't actually necessary.

It was all about context and belonging. Crane was no longer a practicing psychiatrist, but he still understood human nature. People were unlikely to jump to the conclusion that an arbitrary work-colleague, calming walking along the corridor, was really a notorious criminal. People rarely paid that sort of attention to each other.

Crane merely flashed a stolen lanyard at the security guard who was watching the main entrance of the building. With a rueful smile, he explained that he'd forgotten about important paper work that had to been done _tonight_.

"They never let up, do they?" the guard commiserated.

Crane flicked a glance toward the guard's nametag. "Not ever, Larry," the doctor agreed as he made his way into the building.

"Take care now," the guard called after him.

Crane did not feel the need to respond further. He had memorised the layout of the building and walked confidently toward the tech. division. Few employees were working at that hour and none of them gave the ex-psychiatrist a second glance. This was gratifyingly simple. It seemed that a stolen lanyard and a basic grasp of psychology was all it took. Of course, he only needed to pass undetected for a short time. After that, his chemical assault would destroy any need for stealth. With luck, he would be gone from the scene before the police or the Bat showed up.

According to the schematics, the tech. division contained an administration section for notes, paperwork and offices. The actual laboratory section was just down the corridor from the office area. Crane's target was the administration area and he was looking for notes.

The laboratory had to be working toward a patent and therefore there would be plenty of hand-written notes meticulously taken down in books. It was good scientific practice, but it was mostly a provision in case a rival company was working toward a similar goal. Comprehensive, hand-written and dated notes would be invaluable in mounting a patent case in court. The institute that could prove that they had made the discovery first would invariably win the rights to that discovery.

The administration area was deserted and Crane took his time going through the desks of staff members. He sifted through piles of useless notes including briefs on unrelated projects, ethics approvals and bureaucracy. After an hour, Crane was getting frustrated. The only outward sign was the way he drummed his fingers against the desk. Time was a factor and this was getting nowhere. Scarecrow was being similarly unhelpful by suggesting that they move onto to the toxin stage of the evening and forget about the paperwork.

Crane ignored his counterpart and continued his methodical search. Eventually his prying bore fruit and he found a set of notes detailing early synthesis of the new drug and equally intriguing, the original brief from Arkham. There would be time to look over the notes later. Scarecrow was even more restless now that their primary goal had been achieved. It was time to forget about discretion and act large scale. Scarecrow took over and retrieved the mask from one of his pockets. This was going to be fun.

~X~

Bruce Wayne was still in his office as the evening settled down. Unfortunately, the reason he was staying back had nothing to do with a conscientious work ethic or a studious attitude. He had simply fallen asleep at his desk.

To be fair, the hours of real sleep he had gotten in the past week could be counted on one hand. There was only so far a human body could be pushed before it started acting out, no matter what sort of willpower drove it. At least he was alone in his office so that no one was around witness this moment of burnout. His secretary had been told not to disturb him and she had left the office two hours ago when her shift had ended.

Had the evening settled normally, it would have been another hour or so before Bruce awakened. When his nocturnal shift as Batman began, Bruce always became more alert. His body-clock and training left him primed for action a few hours into the night. This may have contributed to his occasional insomnia, but it often kept him alive when he patrolled.

Tonight, however, Bruce was woken by the sound of alarms rather than his conditioning. It took him less than a second to recognise his surroundings and for sick a feeling to develop in the pit of his stomach. Wayne Enterprises was being targeted. Was it one of his more creative enemies and if it was, did they _know_?

There was no time for panic or the tight pain in his shoulders caused by sleeping over his desk. He needed to act. Options unfolded before him. He could get out of the building, get to the cave and return as Batman. It would be the least suspicious option, but time was a factor. He could try to help out as Bruce Wayne, but he'd be practically defenceless and hampered by his persona. He picked a compromise: Applied Sciences. There were usually prototypes and older pieces of armour available. He could cobble together something that would pass as Batman's suit and protect his identity. There really was no other way. If the attack was large-scale, then innocent lives could be at stake.

Not for the first time, Bruce cursed the interplay of his double life. If someone had targeted him in the cave, or even at the manor or penthouse, he'd have had at least a dozen contingency plans to get out of the situation. However, he didn't have any plans for this sort of emergency. He was so rarely at work that it should not have been an issue at all. This was Bruce Wayne's world, not Batman's.

Bruce avoided areas of high traffic or places that were likely targets. The alarms were non-specific and activated by security guards. As much as the vigilante itched to enter the fray and help any civilians, he could only be of use as Batman. There was only so much a strategically blundering Bruce Wayne could achieve.

The billionaire had memorised the layout of the building some time ago. It was easy to get to the Applied Sciences department through areas that were mostly deserted. Attacks would not be focused in areas without targets…unless the attack was random. Knowing his enemies, that was distinct possibility.

Fortunately, Bruce arrived without any mishaps and the one employee that had crossed his path was too focused on his own escape to pay much attention to the playboy. The first detail that Bruce noticed was that the nearest table in the lab had pieces of unfamiliar armour lying across it. He drew closer on instinct before he registered another's presence.

"I hoped you'd still be around, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce turned. "Lucius, thank god you're here."

"The feeling of relief is mutual. I came down to Applied Sciences as soon as the alarms went off."

"What is this exactly?" Bruce asked as he gestured toward the table.

"I don't have a perfect replica of your usual attire, but this is something that could be of use. It's a prototype. It's a bit heavier than what you're used to, but if you ever needed something more protective, it would be very useful indeed."

Bruce had wanted something with high mobility. He needed to be adaptable, especially in the face of a surprise like this, but he would take what he could get. "It will do."

"It will have to. I'm not fully informed about the situation upstairs, but in addition to the usual security alarms, the sensors register atmospheric contamination."

"We have sensors?"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne. I had some time between your requests and decided to upgrade the technical side of security. It's best to be prepared."

There wasn't even a hint of reprimand in Lucius' tone, but Bruce still fought the urge to wince. The cave had security measures in place, far in excess of these systems, but Wayne Enterprises' security, like the vast majority of the company's dealings, had been left to others.

"Here," Lucius presented Bruce with a small breathing filter, "this should work against whatever's in the air."

Bruce had his suspicions about 'atmospheric contamination', but he wouldn't make assumptions. It was best to be prepared…for anything. Pulling on the armour was second nature to Bruce, even with the differences in design. In less than a minute he was ready to face the attack and the perpetrators.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a thick haze hanging over the laboratory. Particles of fear toxin were suspended in the air alongside the opaque aerosol that was giving the room such a pleasantly oppressive atmosphere. Scarecrow was in his element. The few lab techs that were staying back had either fled screaming or were curled up in corners living out their deepest terrors.

A broad grin adorned Scarecrow's face beneath his mask. There were sounds of distant screams and closer sobs. All noise was distorted by the chemical haze, but that only made things more interesting. It had been a good idea of Crane's to include something to obscure sight. It fed the nightmares and it would only make his escape easier.

_Are __there __any __air __vents __or __other __things __that __I __could __use __to __spread __toxin __through __the __whole __building?_ Scarecrow questioned.

'Unfortunately we don't have enough toxin for that. Besides, the schematics didn't give a very good indication of the air flow in this place.'

Scarecrow shrugged. Spreading terror in the lab had been fun and he intended to create a similar environment in the main foyer as he left. There should be plenty of people in such a high-traffic area. Scarecrow left the lab.

The aerosols had seeped into the administration area and even into the corridor, but there were no other people around. The sounds reminded him of Fear Night, but the tone felt different. This was not a war zone filled with terrified and violent predators. This was an intimate chemical hell that isolated each victim in their own private nightmare. Scarecrow took two steps into the corridor, but then he froze. He pivoted on the spot and stared into the artificial fog. There was a shadow sweeping through the haze. Its path hugged the wall.

_It__'__s __him, _Scarecrow growled.

Crane suppressed a shiver. The Batman. 'You're sure?' he demanded.

_Oh, __I__'__m __sure. __He __moves __like __something __out __of __a __nightmare._ Scarecrow sounded wary, but underneath his tone, there was a hint of glee.

Crane gave the impression of a frown. Scarecrow should not be responding with something that bordered on respect. The Bat strove for intimidation. Every aspect of his costume and his weaponry were design to instil fear into the superstitious criminal element. But in the end, Batman only dabbled in fear. Crane and Scarecrow lived for it.

A heartbeat later Scarecrow realised the significance of the Bat's presence.

_Wait, __we __began __the __attack __only __minutes __ago. __How __is __he __already __here! __How __does __he __know _every _time?_

Crane faltered for a moment. He did not have a rational answer to Scarecrow's outburst. How _did_ that damn vigilante get to the crime scene so fast?

There were more immediate concerns. The doctor set the problem aside. 'It doesn't matter. We have what we need—now we run. We'll still unleash toxin in the main atrium. If we take down enough victims on the way out, maybe he'll stop to render assistance. His compassion is weakness.'

_He's hardly compassionate. That creature is ruthless._

'That man,' Crane corrected sharply. He would not allow Scarecrow such flights of fancy, even with the Bat's fear toxin induced visage almost fresh in his mind. Batman was only human, no matter how he tried to transcend the situation.

_Whatever._

Scarecrow sprinted up the corridors that he had so recently stalked down. He didn't bother dodging or trying to lose his pursuer. In a straight test of speed he could outrun the Bat. The vigilante was armoured and slow. He was built for combat rather than the chase. If they were out in Gotham city proper, and the Bat had access to rooftops and gliding, it would be a different story. Inside however, the advantage lay firmly on Scarecrow's side.

The flesh between Scarecrow's shoulder blades itched. He could imagine the Bat's cape billowing out behind him and disturbing the haze. Logically, Scarecrow knew that the vigilante probably had a breathing filter. However, a part of him couldn't help but think that there was something intrinsic about the Bat that helped him to resist the fear. He was the one who had managed to unravel Jonathan's intricate compound and create an antidote.

Adrenaline ran through Scarecrow's system. The Bat inspired fear. It was as simple as that and it was something that hampered the petty criminals. Conversely, Scarecrow found the thrill of fear invigorating. Fear was everything and the Scarecrow embraced it and used it, rather than letting it undermine him.

Scarecrow was grinning beneath his mask as he burst into the entryway of the building. There were at least a dozen people milling around. A simple mechanism, produced by Crane, allowed him to unleash a fresh cloud of toxin and the aerosol vehicle. Screams sounded in seconds and the haze acted as the perfect smokescreen. Scarecrow passed a woman who was curled up and shrieking in a corner. He almost stopped to watch, until Crane reminded him of their priorities.

Scarecrow sprinted across the floor toward the main doors, only to be confronted by Larry. The security guard must have been standing outside and had managed to avoid the toxin. Scarecrow's grin became something darker and crueller as he palmed a vial of the new, deadly toxin.

"Goodbye, Larry," said Scarecrow.

"You're the Scarecrow. You—you're not getting out of here." Larry was demonstrating a remarkable level of courage. Scarecrow could see the way his hand was shaking as he reached for his gun. It was pleasing that Larry knew who he was dealing with, but it certainly wasn't enough to save him.

"You misunderstand," Scarecrow explained as he threw the vial down in front of the guard. As expected, fumes rose from the shattered vial and the guard's expression went blank as the poison shredded his mind.

"Goodbye," Scarecrow repeated. This time, malice and a sense of finality crept through his words. Despite himself, Crane was intrigued by the effects. But this time it was Scarecrow who reminded Crane of their priorities.

Once they were out of the building and into the city, Scarecrow changed evasion tactics. The screams and the opaque chemical fumes were drawing bystanders. He didn't know how long the Bat would be delayed in the confusion, but he was willing to bet that it wouldn't be very long.

Instead of flat-out sprinting, Scarecrow began to utilise the shadows and tried to lose any pursuit in alleys and side-streets. It was much easier to do that in the Narrows, where there were more derelict buildings and mazelike streets. Still, this was Gotham, and even the city centre contained enough haphazard, unplanned construction for a single unobtrusive figure to get lost in. With luck, Batman would assume that speed was the important factor and would be widening his search beyond Scarecrow's actual path.

After clearing a few blocks, Crane took over from Scarecrow. He removed the mask and proceeded to make his way as casually as possible. Running figures were suspicious. Businessmen, strolling home after a work-day in the city centre, were not.

The Bat was the only worry in regards to recognition, but he would be skimming rooftops. Aside from the annoyance of the streetlights, Crane was reasonably confident that he would not be disturbed. In the back of his mind Scarecrow was whispering about new beginnings.

~X~

Crane reached his neighbourhood without incident. The district he chose to occupy was only a few steps above the Narrows in terms of reputability. The lighting in the streets was poor, crime was rife, and if a few hapless wanders disappeared from the area, it would be unlikely that the police would be informed. It was a perfect place to go to ground. Though it lacked the true isolation of abandoned industrial districts, it offered the camouflage of petty crime and decrepitude.

When Crane entered his apartment he set aside the brief from Arkham to read at his leisure. His main interest was the level of pharmacological development that had been achieved. The doctor flipped open one of the more comprehensive note books and scanned a few pages. He was looking for formulae and structural diagrams. It did not take long to find these in the methods section.

Though Crane had just been skimming over the notes, one particular diagram drew his attention. He frowned and leaned in closer to the page. That couldn't be right. Surely they couldn't be…

A sudden sound made Crane lift his head. His heart thudded as he realised that someone was scraping at his door. He rationalised to himself that there was no cause for concern. The Bat would not try to enter so unobtrusively. The police would similarly be kicking down doors rather than picking locks.

Crane relaxed and pulled on his mask. Scarecrow rose to the forefront of their consciousness. Whatever petty burglar that was trying to enter would regret it. That thought brought a smile to their lips. Then the door swung open and a familiar figure lurched in. Scarecrow paused and Crane gave the impression of a frown.

_What __the __hell __is __the __Joker __doing __here?_ Scarecrow demanded.

The clown took a few steps into the room and stopped. He was grinning, but he didn't speak. He was wearing his paints, but rather than his usual garish suit, his clothing was non-descript.

'Ordinarily, my first guess would be wound treatment, but that clearly isn't the case,' Crane answered his counterpart.

_Huh?_

'He was at our heist. He was in the building.'

_You saw him?_

'No, but I can see his eyes now. There's fear toxin in his system. It's hard to determine the dose. Either it's a minor amount or he's coping very well. It also appears that he's only been exposed to our non-lethal variant.'

Scarecrow shrugged, unperturbed. _But __what __was __he __doing __at __the __Wayne __Building? __How __did _he _know? __First __the __Bat __and __now __the __Clown. __Does _everyone _know __about __our __plans?_

'Those are just some of the questions I want to ask him. Give him a shot of the antidote…if he's lucid enough to accept it, that is.'

Scarecrow smirked and made his way toward the chemical supplies. "I really wasn't expecting company," he began in a conversational tone as he fiddled with the contents of their briefcase. He glanced over his shoulder. The Joker appeared remarkably lucid, all things considered, but his gaze occasionally flicked around the room as he tracked unseen things. It split his focus.

"Company, uh-huh." The Joker was clearly not paying attention to the other villain.

"In fact I don't have much to offer a guest," Scarecrow continued in the same solicitous manner. He had to draw the antidote into the syringe twice because the first time he got a few air bubbles. Jonathan was better at the clinical stuff. Still, Scarecrow was enjoying himself as he wandered over to the Joker, antidote in hand. The clown's eyes were drawn to the movement. His hand twitched as if he were holding a knife.

'Be careful, Scarecrow,' Crane warned.

Scarecrow ignored his counterpart and stalked around to his target's flank. The Joker turned his head to track Scarecrow's progress, but otherwise he remained still. That eerie stillness was something that Scarecrow was used to seeing from a toxin-dosed Joker.

Scarecrow poised the needle above the Joker's external jugular vein. It was hardly an appropriate site for an injection, but Scarecrow ignored Crane's heated protests. It was about the style of things.

"Just a little something to take away the fear," Scarecrow murmured in the Joker's ear as he as he delivered the antidote.

The Joker gave no outward indication of discomfort or surprise. However, an unpleasant smile stretched across his lips as the solution drained into his circulatory system.

'That was beyond reckless, Scarecrow. What possessed you to inject something into his neck? I'm surprised he didn't try to eviscerate us. You should stay away from him when he's dosed. He is _dangerous_.'

Scarecrow smirked. _I __know._

Crane shoved Scarecrow's presence aside. There was no reasoning with his counterpart after Scarecrow had had a chance to terrorise others. The fear was almost literally intoxicating for the Scarecrow and it eroded his caution. It could make him more dangerous, but it could also make him careless.

As Crane pulled off his mask, the Joker turned around to face him. "Hiya, doc. Does this mean Scary's grounded?"

Crane adjusted his glasses. "Something like that. How are you feeling?"

"You're asking out of academic interest?"

"Obviously."

The Joker laughed. "I'm feeling just peachy, doc. And what about you? How was the uh, _party_?"

Crane glanced over at the stolen notes and gave a thin smile. "Things were working out quite well," Crane's expression darkened, "until Batman turned up mere minutes after I'd begun, that is."

"He was there?" The change in the Joker's demeanour was instantaneous. He immediately closed the space between them. A knife appeared in his hand so quickly that Crane didn't even see him draw it. Of course, the ex-psychiatrist was rather preoccupied by the wild look in the Joker's eyes and hadn't been watching his hands. Crane buried a spark of fear. Weakness was not an option and it would only encourage the Joker to lash out.

"I assumed you knew," Crane explained as calmly as possible. He was thankful that he managed to keep his voice from shaking. The blade hovered a hair's breadth from the doctor's cheek. The Joker's face was close enough to block out the rest of the room. Crane could not see any smudges in the clown's greasepaint. It looked freshly applied.

"In fact, I assumed that the Bat's presence was the reason you were there in the first place," the doctor finished.

The feral look in the Joker's eyes gradually faded and was replaced by the customary blankness. He stepped back and his gaze shifted left and right a couple of times. "Reasons, reasons—not everything's about _reasons_."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Are you being evasive now?"

The Joker's gaze stopped wandering around the room and fixed on Crane's face. "I don't _have_ to be."

The doctor took a step back in response to the implicit threat, but he kept his expression neutral. "I was merely making an observation."

"So was I."

There was moment of silence. Then the Joker spoke again. "So the Bat just happened to be around during your first big heist since, well, _forever_. I knew he was good, but how did he pull that off? Did you leave him clues or something?"

Crane scoffed. "I have no idea how he got there so quickly, but I assure you that I don't advertise my whereabouts to masked vigilantes. Maybe he was following you, but lost your trail."

"You think so?" The Joker seemed genuinely pleased by the prospect. He took a moment to think it over. "Nah, I was _incognito_."

Crane nodded to himself. That explained the freshness of the makeup and the street-clothes. However, it did not explain why the Joker had infiltrated Wayne Enterprises, let alone why he had bothered to be stealthy. Crane resisted his curiosity. The Joker was clearly not in the mood to explain himself.

"So how was Batman? Did he mention me?" The Joker's enquiry interrupted Crane's musings.

The doctor gave the clown a measured look. There was a smile on the Joker's face and it was hard to tell if his questions were meant to be sincere.

"I didn't really stop and chat," Crane replied dryly.

The Joker nodded. "That's modern society for you. No one stops to chat anymore. Everyone's just too busy." His mournful expression lasted for all of two seconds before he began to giggle.

"I'm surprised that you aren't asking about why I targeted Wayne Enterprises."

"Why would I care about that?" the Joker asked.

"Because what I stole is very interesting."

"Blah, blah chemicals, blah, blah psychotropic drugs—am I close?"

Crane didn't let the Joker's dismissive attitude faze him. "Actually it relates directly to you."

"Now that _is_ interesting."

"Quite. Wayne tech is developing a brand new drug for dealing with Arkham deeply troubled patients. I'll let you guess exactly what sort of 'troubled patients' they have in mind. Anyway, I recognised the backbone of the compound that they're designing. I synthesised something similar by accident only days ago and the effects are somewhat…dramatic."


	4. Chapter 4

The room smelt of industrial strength cleaning products and gift-shop flowers. The beep of an electrocardiograph was a steady presence. Other than that, the patient seemed almost normal as he sat in bed and stared at the wall. Only after a brief observation did it become apparent that there was something wrong. The patient's gaze was completely vacant and unchanging, despite anything that happened around him. The flash of a pen light in his pupil or the sudden sound of a slamming door went equally unnoticed.

Most people found a hospital setting uncomfortable. Hospitals were associated with unpleasant memories of death, injury or pain. This was not the case for Bruce. Death, injury and pain were things that happened at night, on the streets and in alleyways. Such unpleasant experiences were almost commonplace for Bruce, but they happened in the heat of combat and in a blur of chaos. Quiet beds, life-support systems and antimicrobials were mostly unfamiliar to him. If anything, his associations with hospitals brought up bittersweet and half-forgotten memories of his father's practice.

"There's no need for you to be here, Mr. Wayne. We know how to contact you if there is any change in his condition."

Bruce turned to look at the doctor who had just entered the room.

"I know. I just wanted to see him. He got hurt working for me."

The doctor gave him a warm smile. "I've always admired your philanthropy. Your foundation's donations to the hospital alone have been substantial. However, I didn't know that you cared on such a personal level for your staff. That's really admirable, Mr. Wayne. Stay as long as you need."

The doctor flipped open the patient's chart and scanned through the contents. He put it back and had a quiet word to one of the nurses before moving on. He gave Bruce a nod as he left the room and the billionaire returned the gesture.

When Bruce was left alone in the room with two sleeping patients and one comatose individual, he picked up the chart and leafed through it. The name on the first page was Larry Walters. He had been a security guard at Wayne Enterprises. Bruce skipped over the personal information until he found the medically relevant sections. They weren't very helpful and Bruce ended up replacing the chart with a frustrated sigh.

While his pool of forensic knowledge was substantial, medicine was not an area that Bruce had much reason to specialise in. He could dress most types of wounds, albeit without much finesse, but neurochemistry was not something he dealt with routinely. Still, he had already hacked into Larry's medical records and passed the information onto Lucius. Also if a blood sample was needed at some point, then 'Bruce Wayne's concern for his employee' would make an excellent cover.

Practicality aside, Bruce was actually concerned. He had seen Crane during the attack and the effects of fear toxin on his staff had been both terrible and horrifyingly familiar. However, the chemical that had been used to target Larry was different. The effects were like nothing the doctors had seen before.

After Fear Night, every conceivable reaction to Crane's toxin had been encountered and recorded. There had been brain damage and irreversible effects, deaths from cardiac incidences, reactions with medication or other drugs, and even encephalopathy in victims receiving over-doses. But in all of the thousands of citizens that had been exposed on that night, not one of them had shut down like this. Traces of the compound found in Larry's bloodstream had baffled the clinicians. Whatever Crane had cooked up had been completely novel and brutally efficient. The surveillance footage was hazy, but it seemed that only a small amount of the compound had even been present, not to mention how little must have been inhaled by the unfortunate security guard.

After the attack, Bruce had kept replaying the incident over and over. There must have been something he could have done, some way to get there quicker or even some way to have caught up to Crane and beaten him until he revealed an antidote for this new weapon. Bruce tried to ignore the dark appeal that the last option held.

The plain fact was that Batman had let the Scarecrow escape. He had been unprepared and concern had split his focus between pursuing the perpetrator and protecting the victims. Bruce had failed and even worse, there was the chance that Crane would decide to use this new chemical on a large-scale attack. The casualties would be unthinkable. The only chance was producing pre-emptive treatments or cures for mass distribution. Bruce dreaded the possibility that the wheels of some great plan were already in motion, and that whatever he did, it would be too late.

The most frustrating thing was that the whole attack did not follow Crane's usual patterns. His crimes tended to centre on his 'research' and involved drug-dealings, kidnappings and torture. Fear Night was the anomaly and had mostly been perpetrated by Ra's al Ghul, if his former mentor had been sincere in his gloating. The only consolation was that the attack seemed to be directed solely against Wayne Enterprises. Batman's identity was safe from Crane. Even so, Bruce was concerned about a great many things. He might not have the medical background to help Larry directly, but he could certainly bring the Scarecrow to justice.

Bruce left the room and made sure that he was away from any medical equipment before he pulled out his phone and turned it on. Lucius answered the call on the first ring.

"It's me. How does it look?" Bruce asked. He wasn't much for small talk at the best of times, and right now, the playboy mask was slipping.

"The doctors aren't the only ones who are baffled by this compound, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce's expression tightened. "What can you tell me?"

"Well, it will take a while to tease out the effects since there has only been one incidence of exposure. That said, I've screened the substance and its structure is hauntingly familiar. It might be something that I've seen in an article or a report somewhere—I'm not sure..."

Bruce could almost see Lucius shaking his head on the other end of the line.

"I am reasonably confident that I can come up with something to inoculate against its effects, but time might be a factor," the CEO finished.

"And a cure?"

There was a long pause on Lucius' end. Bruce was almost holding his breath.

"There might not be one," Lucius finally admitted. "Those brain scans that the hospital took… There might not be anything left of him to save. The compound caused more structural damage than I would have believed possible."

Bruce's cold expression did not belong on the face of a billionaire playboy. "Crane won't get a chance to use it again."

~X~

"So, Arkham has become desperate enough to start stealing your, uh, research. Do they think that giving fear-inducing, hallucinogenic drugs to difficult patients is going to make their lives _easier_? Or have they come around to your way of thinking—that it's all about the _fear_?"

The Joker snickered, but Crane merely smirked. "Regrettably, no. My theories are considered somewhat radical by a sadly unenlightened scientific community. This drug is unlike any of my other compounds."

The Joker tilted his head. It was as close to outward curiosity as he tended to get. "Without getting into the techno-babble, what does it do?"

"It destroys the mind, sending the individual into a comatose state instantaneously. Think of it as a chemical lobotomy."

"So it's lethal, then?"

"Essentially."

A grin spread across the Joker's face and he took a few steps toward Crane. "Well, well, well, look at _you_, doc. That's a nasty sort of chemical to be playing around with. Was it an accident or did you do it on _purpose_?"

Crane adjusted his glasses as he considered his response. The Joker's expression was always unsettling, but there was an edge to his current grin that encouraged the doctor to tread carefully.

"The effect was unanticipated. It was meant to saturate the neural fear circuitry, not break it. However, Scarecrow pointed out the merits of using such a compound under certain conditions. We used it on a security guard during our escape from Wayne Enterprises. I had no idea that their researchers had been working on something similar until I stole their notes."

"So good old Arkham's up to something too. Correct me if I'm wrong, doc, but don't scientists, who aren't you, need voluntary human trials and safety things before they can start using new drugs?"

Crane gave the Joker a measured look and wondered if the insinuation about his practices was meant as an insult or not. He chose to ignore it. "Ordinarily, yes. But if they don't intend to set up a patent or publish anything in a scientific journal, then accountability drops off significantly. Furthermore, if there are enough corrupt links in the chain, and this is Gotham after all, it is entirely possible that this drug could be pushed through for use at Arkham. The media would portray any casualties among the patients as an unfortunate tragedy."

The Joker smirked. "And quiet celebrations would be held all over the city as the hypocrites breathe a big sigh of relief and no one would look too deeply into the matter."

"Precisely."

"That means that someone, somewhere, thinks that they're doing the right thing. I wonder…is it a rogue researcher, a vengeful Arkham administrator or does the line lead right up to the Wayne Enterprises board of directors?" The Joker seemed inordinately pleased at the idea. Whenever people let their darker sides show, the clown was ready to offer a big smile and a round of applause.

After a moment, the bright, manic edge left the Joker's expression, but the glee was still present. He seemed to consider something for a moment before flopping into the nearest chair. The clown let his eyes wander around the room as he spoke. "You know, if I feel like it, I can leave some pretty disturbing remains."

Crane frowned at the abrupt change in the conversation, but he was somewhat accustomed to the Joker's capricious nature.

"I get that sort of freedom using a knife, and if choose to let my inner creativity shine, I can even make veteran cops lose their lunch all over my crime-scenes. It's a talent." Here, the Joker gave a shrug and looked down at the carpet with an exaggerated show of modesty. A heartbeat later his tone lost its casual inflection and he fixed Crane with a steady gaze. The clown's lips stretched upward into a smile.

"But from what you've said, this little chemical weapon of yours is different. People don't like the idea of some half-dead zombie lying there or staring into space. They like the idea of _being_ that zombie even less. It's _creepy_. It unsettles them in way they probably can't even put words to. I've got to say, I'm kind of impressed. The fear thing's debatable, I'm probably not the best judge, but you've got the creepiness down to an art form."

Crane frowned again. He felt oddly flattered by the Joker's compliment. It was a disturbing feeling. "Perhaps," the doctor conceded, "but I would still like to know why you're here."

"Is it always business with you? Learn to take a compliment, doc."

"The toxin would have worn off without my help, so why are you here?" Crane repeated. He was not going to play games at this point, and he was unimpressed with the Joker's show of camaraderie. The clown's tendency toward obscure motives and unfathomable reasons frustrated the ex-psychiatrist. The fact that these traits also drew Crane's fascination did not help matters.

The Joker assumed a hurt look. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

The doctor scowled. All traces of mock-sorrow left the Joker's features as he laughed at Crane's expression. A moment later the clown looked away and began to pick at a splinter on the chair leg. His other hand drummed arrhythmically against his thigh.

"Alright, alright, the Arkham thing, the _drug_ thing is interesting. I suppose I can tell _you_ something interesting too. It's going to happen in about, uh, let's say a week's time. You're going to want to be on the streets and armed. It's going to fun and absolutely hilarious." The last two words were spoken slowly and with heavy emphasis. This earnest attitude held for all of a second before the Joker began to giggle again. Still, Crane shivered. The look in the Joker's eyes was one he remembered from the clown's more unstable moments.

"Does this have something to do with your break-in to the Wayne buildings? Are you planning something big?"

The Joker pressed a finger to his lips and smirked. "Let's just say that Wayne Enterprises has its claws in almost every part of this city and there are a lot of things that can go _wrong_. Sometimes I think that half of Gotham works for the criminals and the other half works for Wayne Enterprises. But all you need to remember is that you'll want to be there, on the streets, when stuff starts happening. We'll keep in touch."

The Joker rose from his seat and invaded Crane's personal space. The doctor's posture stiffened, but he resisted the urge to take a step back. It was not wise to back down in the face of the Joker's intimidation and Crane's pride prevented him from doing so now.

"I know I didn't need it, but thanks for the _anti_dote. Don't get me wrong, the toxin brought back some fun memories, but reality is where all the best fun happens."

"You're quite welcome," Crane replied in a carefully measured tone.

The Joker smiled again. Then he turned to leave. Crane was surprised at how simple the exchange had been.

"Have fun with your chemistry set, doc," the Joker called over his shoulder as he left the apartment.

_Well __that__'__s __good,_ Scarecrow announced, once the clown had gone.

'Pardon?' Crane enquired. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as Scarecrow spoke.

_Whatever the Joker ends up doing is going to tie up the Bat's attention._

Crane replaced his glasses and smirked. 'Are you sure that isn't going to disappoint you? You seem to enjoy the attention.'

Scarecrow gave the impression of a scowl and ignored the suggestion. _So_ w_hat __do __you __think __Joker__'__s __got __planned?_

'I shudder to think, but we can be sure it's about the Bat. It always is with him.' Crane dearly hoped that he misinterpreted the sulky feeling that emanated from Scarecrow in response to the observation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** A ridiculous delay and my sincere apologies. It's an extra-long chapter…

~X~

A woman screamed in an alleyway. In a city like Gotham it was a part of the background noise. For Batman, it was a call to action. He had been searching for leads on both the Joker and the Scarecrow for weeks. Crane's ruthless and unexpected attack made his capture a priority, but Joker was also behaving unusually. He had been inactive for too long after his escape. It was unsettling for the police and the public, but for Batman it was almost torture. Any day could bring reports of fiery destruction or the deaths of innocent civilians. Batman was prepared for anything, anything at all, except this silence.

At least dealing with a mugging was straightforward. These sorts of crimes were clear cut affairs. The perpetrator was motivated by sane reasons. Batman could help someone and at best, maybe even save a life. He wouldn't be hampered by the police and one more criminal would be spreading stories of Batman and adding to the ledged.

The vigilante dropped down into the dead-end alleyway. It was the sort of scene he'd disrupted countless times in the past. The civilian was backed up against a wall. A can of mace, presumably the victim's, was lying on the ground. The criminal was carrying a knife, but his grip on handle the suggested familiarity rather than training or expertise.

Batman surged forward and crushed the criminal's wrist with his left hand. The vigilante's right fist swung around and rammed into the assailant's jaw. Of course he pulled the punch at the last moment. Batman was a trained martial artist and he knew how to take a strike as well as he delivered them. Common criminals didn't have that training and Bruce didn't want to break the mugger's jaw. A lot of these sorts of criminals in Gotham were just desperate people and crippling them wouldn't be justice. Sirens wailed in the distance. It was more background noise that went largely ignored.

The mugger dropped the knife and slumped against the wall in a dazed stupor. The victim hadn't stopped screaming. She was clearly just as terrified of the vigilante. That should have been the end of it, but the woman's screams had attracted attention. The police budget had been increased substantially after the Joker's attacks and Batman's supposed crimes. This meant more cops on the street and much better response times.

It only took seconds for two police cars to drive up and block the entrance to the dead-end alleyway. Batman's gaze swept toward the rooftops. He couldn't hear helicopters, so this was an unlucky chance rather than a trap for him. Five police officers were already shielding themselves behind their squad cars. They were all pointing guns at him and they all though that he was a cop killer.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" one officer yelled as Batman surreptitiously reached for his grapnel. The vigilante hesitated.

Much later, Batman blamed his distaste for firearms getting in the way of his observation. He saw a gun waver rather than the way the rookie cop behind it was shaking. The kid was scared and it was probably an accident. He fired his gun. The shot went wide, but it acted as a trigger for the rest of the nervous, adrenaline-filled police. Bullets arced through the alley before anyone beside Batman realised what had happened.

The vigilante leapt in front of the criminal and victim, but he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet. One shot slammed into the woman's shoulder and the next one ripped through her ribcage. Batman recognised a killing shot when he saw it. Even dazed, the mugger had hit the ground as soon as the first shot had been fired and he was fine. It was the innocent civilian that didn't know what to do in a fire-fight. Batman set aside his horror and rage in favour of escaping.

"Stop it! Stop shooting, damn it!" the lead officer shouted just as the woman's body hit the pavement. Batman was already on the rooftops and concentrating on evading any pursuit. But focused as he was, he still heard the rookie cop pleading.

"Oh god, I didn't mean to. She's okay, right? Oh god, oh god…"

Once he was away from the site of the killing, Batman took a moment to sit on a rooftop ledge and inspected his side. Though he hadn't noticed it at the time, he had sustained an injury. A bullet had grazed his flesh where a joint in his armour left him somewhat vulnerable. Some of the more superstitious criminals thought that he could dodge bullets and it payed to feed those rumours. In reality it was a combination of the Kevlar, and a clear sense of how people used firearms when panicked, that saved the vigilante from most bullet wounds. But that didn't save bystanders. Batman scowled as he replayed the events in his mind. He had to do better, he had to be faster or innocents would pay the price. His expression could have been carved from stone.

Congealing blood between Batman's skin and the inside of his armour became tacky as it dried, restricting movement. He made a note to talk to Lucius about it. The vigilante used a batarang to cut a small section of the damaged fibres away from his wound. A few threads stuck to the drying blood, but Bruce didn't wince as they pulled away from the lesion. He applied antiseptic and used adhesive bandages to fix a pad over the wound. Both the pad and bandages were black. No one would be able to tell he'd been hit unless they were scrutinising the site and that was unlikely during combat. The thought of cutting his patrol short and returning home didn't even cross Batman's mind. Alfred could patch him up in the morning. It would give his old friend an opportunity to lecture him.

An unpleasantly familiar voice cut through Bruce's musings. "That looks like it hurts. Well, probably not as much as the image of that poor girl hitting the pavement. _Thud_. It's a very distinctive sound, don't you think? Kind of like dropping a thick steak onto linoleum."

An inarticulate growl rose from Batman's throat as he twisted around to face the intruder. The Joker waved at him. The casual gesture was rather spoiled by the knife clutched in his hand. Batman leapt to his feet while completely ignoring the pain that tore through his side.

"Joker."

"You know I really do admire your stubborn streak. You're out here getting in the way, getting bystanders killed, being chased down by the police and you're still insisting that you're doing this for _Gotham_. For _them_."

"The police are part of the mess you caused with Dent. I'm cleaning it up."

"You're really not. And as much as I'd love to take credit for all this, it's only inevitability. This city is sliding into a pit and no matter how hard you dig your heels in, things are only going to get worse, inch by inch."

Batman concerntrated on his fighting stance, his eyes never leaving the Joker's knife. The Joker's other hand reached inside his coat. Before the vigilante could react, a note book and a folder containing some documents thudded onto the rooftop. He tensed, but took a half-step forward when it became obvious the contents weren't going to explode.

"What's this, Joker?"

The clown merely smiled. "Remember what I was saying about things only getting worse?"

~X~

Far away from the two arch-foes, in an apartment in the Narrows, Crane scowled. He was looking at the cheery post-it note that had been left on one of the documents he'd stolen from Wayne Tech. it was a message from the Joker explaining that he had taken the notebook, with the suspicious formula, and that he knew that Crane wouldn't mind. There was a smiley face scrawled on one corner.

_That smiley face is creepy, _Scarecrow commented.

Crane ignored Scarecrow and continued to scowl. Other than his expression, the doctor was being remarkably controlled.

'The next time I see that damn clown—' Crane began in even tones.

_That's not all he took, Jonathan. I'm fairly sure your stack of experimental notes was higher than that._

Crane looked over at his meticulously organised data. He could guess what was missing, even if the Joker's motives were as opaque as usual. This time Crane cursed viciously and just barely refrained from scattering his notes. Scarecrow smirked at his counterpart's unaccustomed belligerence. It was unusual to see Crane lose his composure.

Crane collected himself in less than a minute. 'I'm surprised that the narcissist left the Arkham notes that directly concerned him,' he said bitterly.

_I guess it's better than nothing…_

Crane continued to scowl.

~X~

Batman didn't reach for the folder, despite how strongly his curiosity was piqued.

"Come on, it's a gift," the Joker insisted.

The vigilante glared and remained silent.

"You're going to pick it up sooner or later. If it was a trap you'd already know the punch line. It's all about the _timing_." The Joker was toying with his knife, but his free hand tapped arrhythmically against the side of his leg.

When it became obvious that the Bat wasn't going to reply, the clown continued. "Now you're just being contrary. You don't want to do something that I suggest out of sheer stubbornness."

Finally Batman chose to participate in the one-sided conversation. "You don't know a thing about me," he growled.

The clown broke into a fit of laughter. It almost seemed genuine. "That's a good one!" he chortled. "Firstly, I know you're just _dying_ to hit me and that any second—"

Batman's Kevlar clad fist rammed into the Joker's jaw and spun him to the side.

"Lucky guess," Batman muttered as he turned to face his opponent again. Pain lanced through the vigilante's side but it didn't show on his face.

The clown was still howling with laughter as they fought and he chanted 'told you so' in between fits of giggles. Despite his lingering mirth, the Joker fought with complete focus. His knife flashed across the reinforced Kevlar plates, searching for edges. Batman fought to incapacitate when he could. However, the manic viciousness that was employed against him often forced him to strike to hurt, just to give himself space to think and breathe. Batman couldn't hold back when he fought the Joker. He told himself that he didn't enjoy those few moments when a violent, uncontrolled punch was a necessity.

Unacceptable satisfaction aside, uncontrolled meant inefficient, and when Batman ducked out of the way of a particularly fierce thrust, it gave the madman an opportunity to flee. The vigilante gave chase, but it was futile. Even though it should be impossible to lose a bright purple target, his enemy could use the shadows and darkness almost as effectively as he did himself.

Batman chased the Joker over rooftops and through alleyways for hours. Even after he lost the trail, he had started searching in a widening spiral pattern, expecting to find bloody corpses or other markers of the clown's passing. Most of the time, the Joker _wanted_ to be caught. But on those rare occasions when he didn't, he excelled at disappearing. Batman growled to himself and made his way back to the rooftop where the papers had been left. Maybe they'd offer some insight into the Joker's activities. The clown liked to leave threats.

Batman recognised the Wayne Enterprises logo on the cover of the notebook. A chill slid down his spine. Reminders about his identity were not welcome during his patrol, especially not coming from the Joker. But it was worse than that. Bruce didn't need to open the notebook to guess that it was one of the stolen notebooks from Wayne Tech.

First it was weeks of inactivity from the Joker, and then it had been a flashy and completely uncharacteristic attack from Scarecrow against Wayne Enterprises. Now the clown was appearing with Crane's stolen notes. Batman desperately hoped that this wasn't an indication that the villains had joined forces. If Joker and Scarecrow were working together, then Gotham was going to suffer. This cryptic clue, or more likely threat, from the Joker was just the perfect end to this hellish patrol.

~X~

Once the Joker was sure that he wasn't being trailed by Batman, he ducked into an alley to catch his breath and check his wounds. After taking in a lungful of Gotham's hazy air, the Joker burst into a fit of laughter. The police accidentally killing, the Bat blaming himself, and the fight, had all been so _perfect_.

The laughter gradually subsided until only the occasional giggle spilled from the clown's ruined mouth. At that point, he dragged off a glove with his teeth and proceeded to explore a bruise forming just underneath his ribs. He shivered as pain crawled across his torso and his smile broadened. Batman always played hard, just like him. His un-gloved hand tested his jaw as well. There was no fracture, no break, but it was going to be sore tomorrow. Hell, it was sore right now. He prodded the injury a little harder than necessary. The resulting twinge caused him to chuckle. It had been fun, but it was time to call it a night. There were bigger things to occupy his time over the next few days.

The Joker didn't have any sort of permanent hideout. The police thought he moved around to avoid detection, but the real reason had nothing to do with pragmatism. He got bored easily and moving around helped to keep him occupied. It was also hilarious whenever he forgot that he had moved on and returned to an old, stripped lair and ended up sleeping on the floor. It was even funnier if he forgot where his newest hideout was and had to start from scratch. It kept life interesting.

The clown was currently holed up in an abandoned industrial district near Gotham's harbour. There were old warehouses galore, but the Joker had chosen a small office block. He had even acquired a bare mattress, for once. When he got around to getting more henchmen, he would move into a warehouse. It was practically traditional.

As the clown made his way into his hideout, he was immediately beset upon. His recent tangle with Batman had left him careless. If his favourite foe had lost his trail, then there few others who'd risk tangling with him like this. Even the mob's hit-men had gotten the message. Admittedly he had to carve said message into the flesh of three separate individuals, but he'd made his point.

The Joker's back thudded into the wall. The jolt winded him so his laughter was breathless and wheezy. Fresh pain flared up from his bruises.

"Where are the notes, you petty thief?"

The Joker raised an eyebrow as he recognised his assailant. The mild insult was also amusingly understated. "Hiya Scar—wait, doc? Who's driving?"

The masked villain pressed a forearm into the Joker's throat to cut off the enquiry. "Unless the next words out of your mouth involve the location of my notes, I'm going to give you a nice concentrated does of toxin and watch you scream until your throat starts to bleed. Then we can try again." He decreased the pressure on the Joker's throat to hear the clown speak.

The Joker was expectedly uncooperative. "I'd say Scary because of the mask and the lack of personal space, but my instincts say it's the doc, and not just because of the obsessive notes-thing." The clown reached up and tugged lightly on the burlap shrouding his guest's face. "You two are a lot harder to read when you're wearing this."

The masked villain jerked his head away from the Joker's hand. He was scowling beneath his mask. The Joker's unconcerned attitude was igniting his temper. A stray beam of light from the shipping yard glinted off a canister of fear toxin. The Joker had never been exposed to the aerosol version.

"Anyway," the Joker continued, "I gave your notes to the Bat along with the Arkham formula. He should have fun with that."

"You did _what_?"

"I think he'll go after the Asylum or maybe Wayne Tech. It won't take him long to put the chemical puzzle together. After all, he did crack your toxin pretty quickly. That's why you keep modifying it, right?"

The intruder's anger at being ignored was palpable. He was about to release a cloud of toxin when an unpleasant sensation caused him to freeze. Despite the Joker's apparent unconcern, he'd unsheathed a knife with his left hand and the blade was currently in the vicinity of his attacker's right kidney. The Joker's expression had changed from light amusement to something much more dangerous. But it was the feeling of sharp metal against the masked villain's flesh that caused him to lower the canister.

The Joker used his free hand to pull off the other's mask. "So it's you, doc," he exclaimed. The feral glint in his eyes was replaced by mirth, though it was doubtful that anything glimpsed in the Joker's expression was ever truly genuine.

Crane gave the clown a wary look and pocketed his canister. He knew the Joker was faster, especially with a knife. "That was an inane comment, but yes, it's me."

The Joker furrowed his brow. "I _thought_ so."

"Scarecrow and I were shifting control fairly quickly. He enjoys dealing with emotions like anger, and I let him, but my notes took precedence."

The Joker nodded to himself. "And the threats?"

Crane gave a cold smile. "We both enjoyed that, though your lack of fear was disappointing."

"But not unexpected."

"No, I know you well enough to have grasped your typical behaviour," the doctor said.

The Joker gave the ex-psychiatrist a searching look. His knife dug in a little deeper, though he didn't seem aware of it.

Crane shifted slightly, though he maintained a neutral expression. "But I'm not a behavioural psychologist and I don't find voluntary behaviour particularly informative of the cognitive process," he hastened to explained.

The Joker smiled and the pressure on the knife blade lessened. "Are your next words going to be about how useful fear is in describing the 'cognitive process'?"

Crane shrugged. "You know my opinions and you've experienced my research methods first hand." Crane allowed himself a sharp smile, though it was only brief.

The Joker tilted his head to one side. "Did you learn much, doc?"

"Did you?"

The Joker's smile widened. "You really are fun."

"I suppose that's a compliment, coming from you."

"Fun is the single real thing in this world. It's the _only_ compliment."

"I don't know—the fact that you haven't sunk your knife into my kidney seems fairly complimentary."

The Joker snickered and sheathed his knife.

"Why did you give my notes to Batman?" Crane asked. Now that the Joker seemed less likely to spill blood, the doctor wanted answers.

The Joker shrugged. "Why not? I saw them sitting on your table and I decided to share the joke. It's funnier that way."

The doctor scowled in reply.

The Joker sought to disentangle himself from Crane. The ex-psychiatrist realised just how close he had been standing thanks to Scarecrow's influence. He stepped back quickly.

"So, doc, don't you have copies or something?"

"Not of the Arkham notes."

"Oh come on, I just stole one little notebook."

"One little _relevant_ notebook."

The Joker shrugged again and sat down on a dusty desk. The wooden veneer was peeling and the Joker picked at it with the tip of his knife. Crane folded his arms. A part of him was keenly aware of being in the Joker's territory. It was hard enough dealing with the clown when the doctor had the advantage of familiar terrain. This was even more difficult. Naturally his instinct was to go on the offensive.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you gave the notes to Batman."

The Joker shot a quick look in Crane's direction. The feral look flashed in his gaze for an instant.

Crane pressed his point. "Your preoccupation is obvious. It has even been established under experimental conditions."

The Joker didn't look at Crane, but his knife dug a deep furrow into the surface of the desk. The doctor tried to slow his elevated heart rate. Perhaps it was best to abandon this line of discussion. It was clearly dangerous. Unfortunately, his counterpart was feeling displeased about not getting to dose the Joker. Scarecrow took control and decided to pursue the conversation with his usual level of tact.

"It's almost like you're in love with him or something," Scarecrow said without bothering to hide the note of aversion in his tone.

Instead of anger, laughter or accusations of jealousy, the Joker merely looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe. It's possible to love someone so much that you want to break every bone in their body, right?"

Scarecrow gave him a long look and tried to work out if the clown really meant it. "You're very disturbing."

The Joker smiled. "Coming from you, that's almost a compliment."

Scarecrow chuckled.

"Look Scary, I don't need to think up a hundred different reasons for doing things after the fact. That's what most people tend to do. They act and _then_ they wonder why they did it. They think up all these clever little reasons that have nothing to do with the gut instinct that drove them in the first place. I don't pretend. There's no such _thing_ as a good reason."

The Joker buried his knife in the desktop and stood up. Scarecrow watched him approach and leaned forward slightly. There was something terribly compelling about the Joker. In the back of their mind, Crane snorted.

"Speaking of reasons and gut instincts," the Joker continued, "you could stay the night if you wanted. I suppose the invitation extends to the doc as well."

~X~

For the first time in months, Bruce was alert and awake during a board meeting. However, he wasn't paying attention to the actual content of the meeting. Instead he was brooding about the notes he'd received from the Joker. He'd handed them over to Lucius and the reinstated CEO had discovered some important things. So now Bruce was restless and close to fidgeting in his seat as the meeting droned on and he tried to catch Lucius' attention without appearing to.

Lucius was as patiently dedicated to the company as he was to Bruce's nocturnal crusade. That meant that the meeting covered everything of immediate importance. By that point, Bruce was drumming his fingers on the table and wondering if Lucius knew Morse code and whether it was worth tapping out a message.

Eventually, the CEO took pity on the vigilante and called a break. The other board members leaned back to stretch and a couple of them requested coffee from a hovering personal assistant. Lucius walked out of the room for a breath of air. After a few seconds, Bruce gave the board a vacant smile and murmured something about needing to see the new secretary and welcome her to the company. A couple of the more senior members of the board rolled their eyes while the rest tried to hide their distaste behind indulgent smiles.

Bruce found Lucius waiting for him in an empty office near the board room. He was carrying a folder that had been with him in the meeting. Bruce had assumed it was related to the company, but Lucius' grave expression indicated otherwise. As soon as Bruce shut the door, Lucius got down to business.

"You were right, Mr Wayne. The notebook was part of the information that was stolen from the tech. division. The loose notes aren't anything I've seen before, but the compound that they describe is the same one isolated from the coma victim."

"Larry Walters," Bruce said.

Lucius gave Bruce a sympathetic look. He seemed about to say something but stopped himself at the last minute. "Yes. From what I can tell so far, the specialists were right. There's no way to clear this compound. It's not just sitting in the brain and causing trouble. It's damaged the structure of the neurons themselves."

"Couldn't we repair that damage?"

"If we could, Mr Wayne, it would be hailed as a medical marvel. There's no cure for brain dysfunctions like Alzheimer's or Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease and there's no cure for this. Once the neurons start decaying, there's not a lot that anyone can do."

Bruce stared at a point just behind Lucius' shoulder as he came to terms with the information.

"That's not the only bad news, I'm afraid."

Bruce looked back at Lucius.

"If you recall the Arkham brief," Lucius began. Bruce nodded. He had covertly encouraged the deal in the first place. Batman was not the only way that he could do good in Gotham.

"Well, this stolen notebook outlines some preliminary structures for the drugs that the tech. division was working on. They bear a remarkable similarity to the structure of Crane's compound. There are slight discrepancies, so the effects could differ, but the way the backbone of the compound has been arranged suggests that any effects would be altering the structure of the brain. Doing that is irreversible and seldom good."

Bruce didn't say anything but his mouth drew into a frown.

The silence stretched and Lucius felt compelled to explain something else. "It might be inappropriate to say it, but the individual who wrote out these notes is brilliant. I had a sense of that when I worked on the 'fear toxin', but this is different. The toxin could have been a fluke—you told me about those flowers yourself. However, these notes show a ruthlessly methodical approach and an exceptional level of intuition with chemistry. If these really are his notes, then Crane is a dangerous man." Lucius' expression was earnest; though it was clear he was uncomfortable praising the ability of a psychopathic criminal.

"I know. These sorts of criminals are different from the mob or the desperate elements in Gotham. Crane, Joker, D—" Bruce caught himself, "Ra's al Ghul, these are individuals who could have done great things with their lives. That makes them worse. They had a chance to make the world better place and instead they chose to destroy."

Lucius was silent for a moment. "It wouldn't do any good if I told you that what happened to Larry wasn't your fault, would it?"

"No." For the second time in as many days, Lucius saw an expression that did not belong on playboy-billionaire Bruce Wayne's face.


End file.
